What They Didn't Know

I’m not often a people watcher. But when I travel, I find myself falling into this common sociological pattern; people watching. We watch others to find common ground among the throngs of souls that, even if for the briefest of moments, cross our path. Or, we watch in self-righteous curiosity at the social atrocities of other humanity. They are the less evolved – the step between homo sapiens and the missing link. And we watch them, eyes glued to their awkward ambling, and we smile ruefully – gladdened that they are not we.

Airports are the best for people watching. You can see people from many walks of life and varying cultures. I spent some time living in Japan. I loved my time there. I loved the culture. I loved the people. Of course, I had spent my fair share of time at Narita International Airport near Tokyo.

I made a game of trying to guess their nationalities. Americans were easy to spot. Americans most typically travel in comfortable clothes. Loose fitting pants. Shorts. T-shirts. Sometimes even pajamas. Americans often had the most luggages and walked with a certain swagger not found in other nationalities. It’s been well over a century since the west was won, but we all still walk like cowboys lookin’ to rustle up some grub after a long international flight.

The British were easy to spot as well. They usually walked off the tarmac wearing suits that looked freshly pressed and not having been crunched into a two foot wide chair for 13 hours. They had perfect posture and had an elegant spring in their step, like lithe elves whose demure etiquette would breach no disrespect or rough word. They had a determined look in their eyes that said, “I could kill you with a spot of tea.”

Of course, there are other things to look for when you’re people watching. Once, I thought I saw my future wife. My eyes locked on her shapely form as she walked down the aisle towards her gate. The scene changed and suddenly she was on red carpet walking down the aisle towards me. Her long blonde hair was being blown backwards by an unseen breeze and her neck swathed her head back and forth, swishing her hair ever so slightly. Her eyes locked on mine and I…. I realized I was staring. She gave me a look filled as much with pity as incredulity. I took a deep breath and tried to read a book for a while, trying to take my mind off of people watching. But a few moments later, I saw my second future wife – this one with curly red locks – and the process began once again.

I’ve seen a lifetime of wives or would-be girlfriends at the airport. I’ve seen kindness and cruelty. I’ve seen pain, heartache, loss, and love. I’ve seen friendships re-forged and relationships broken. I’ve seen humanity at its weakest, its worst, its most self-serving. I’ve seen generosity and beauty – oh, have I seen beauty – and I’ve seen what once appeared simple become complex and mysterious. I’ve seen stories unfold among the lives of people I would never know, and I’ve wondered what brought them there and where their tale would take them next. And what they didn’t know, was that I saw them: for glory and shame, I saw them and I watched. Their stories entertained my dull moments stuck alone in a grayed and metallic airport. They brought light and flickered my imagination.

But what I wonder now, is if they saw me too? Who was watching the watcher? I wonder, what have I revealed about myself that I would rather had been hidden? What do they know that I wish they didn’t?